Archive of Our Own ^beta

The box had been shoved so far back under the stairs that Will nearly forgot it existed.

He was sitting on the cool concrete floor of the basement, one knee drawn up, the other stretched out, dust motes drifting through the single window near the ceiling. The basement smelled faintly like cardboard and laundry detergent and the lingering memory of old winters.

Will tugged the box toward him, the cardboard soft at the edges, the words Halloween scrawled in Sharpie on the side in a handwriting that was unmistakably Joyce's. He smiled before he even opened it.

Inside was a mess of years layered together: cheap plastic masks, old makeup kits long dried out, a bent pirate hat, a cracked stormtrooper helmet, fabric folded and unfolded so many times it had forgotten how it was supposed to lie flat. Will's fingers brushed over everything carefully, reverently, like he was touching artifacts instead of costumes.

He laughed quietly when he found the bowl-cut wig from when he'd gone as Bob Ross in high school. He pushed it aside, then paused.

There it was.

Purple fabric, darker than he remembered but still unmistakable. The robe was folded smaller than it had ever been meant to be, the once-bright trim dulled with age. He lifted it out of the box, the material soft against his palms, and something in his chest went tight and warm all at once.

"Oh," he breathed.

The cleric's robe. No—his wizard robe. Will the Wise.

For a second, the basement faded around him.

He was nine years old again before he even realized it.

The living room light was too bright, the kind that made everything feel important, like something worth remembering was happening. The air smelled like fabric softener and acrylic paint, and Will was standing dead centre on the rug, barely able to keep his feet still. The robe scratched a little at his wrists, but he didn't care. He didn't care that the hood kept slipping over his eyes or that the hem dragged along the carpet and caught under his sneakers every time he moved.

Because he was Will the Wise.

He lifted his staff—his staff, which he had made himself, which had taken three whole afternoons and way too much glitter—and spun around so Joyce could see him from every angle.

"Mom, look!" he said, breathless, voice tumbling over itself. "Me and Mike look like our D&D characters!"

Mike stood a few feet away, practically stiff as a board.

The paladin armour was heavier than Mike had expected. The cardboard breastplate pressed against his chest when he breathed, the straps rubbing at his shoulders. Nancy had helped him paint it silver, had rolled her eyes affectionately when he insisted it needed to look 'real,' and Karen had spent half an hour adjusting the fake leather belt so it wouldn't slide down.

It had all been Mike's idea.

"Wouldn't it be cool," he'd said weeks ago, sitting cross-legged on Will's bedroom floor, character sheets spread between them, "if we dressed up as our D&D characters for Halloween this year?"

Will had gone very still.

Then his eyes had lit up so fast and so bright that Mike's stomach had dropped straight through the floor.

"Really?" Will had asked, like he couldn't quite believe Mike was serious. "We could do that?"

Mike had shrugged, suddenly painfully aware of his hands, his voice, the fact that Will was looking at him like he'd just suggested something incredible and out of this world. "Yeah. I mean. If you want."

Will had thrown his arms around him without warning as he nodded excitedly, knocking them both sideways onto the carpet. Mike had laughed, startled and breathless, heart racing for reasons he didn't yet have words for.

Now, standing in the living room, Mike watched Will bounce in place, watched the way the robe swayed around him, watched how perfectly right it looked.

And something inside him twisted.

Will turned toward Joyce again, unable to contain himself. "Mike looks cool, right?" he said eagerly, grabbing at Mike's sleeve. "He's a paladin!"

Mike's face burned instantly.

He stared at the floor, at the carpet fibres, anywhere but Will. "It's—it's not that cool," he muttered. "It's just cardboard."

Karen crouched slightly beside him, her voice gentle and knowing. "Then why do you look so shy, Michael, sweetie?"

Mike's mouth opened. Closed. He shrugged, shoulders hunched like he was trying to make himself smaller. "I'm not," he grumbled. "I just—whatever."

Joyce was already tearing up.

"Oh, you two," she said, pressing a hand to her chest. "You look absolutely adorable. Like little heroes."

Will beamed at that, chest puffing out proudly. He lifted his staff again, accidentally knocking it against Mike's shield with a hollow thunk.

"Sorry!" Will said quickly, then laughed, unbothered. "But Mom, it's perfect, right? He's Mike the Brave, and I'm Will the Wise."

Mike swallowed.

Mike the Brave.

He hadn't named Will's character—that had been obvious from the start—but his name? He'd picked it himself, half joking, half hoping no one would question it. Hearing Will say it out loud, with that much certainty, that much pride, made something warm and terrifying bloom in his chest.

"Okay, hold still," Joyce said, nodding at Will's question and already fumbling with the camera strap as she backed toward the couch. "Just for a second— oh! Karen, wait, let me get the light."

Karen laughed softly, lifting her own camera. "We might as well take a few. This is definitely one of those moments."

Will froze instantly, shoulders straightening like he'd been given an important quest. He gripped his staff with both hands, chin lifted proudly, robe bunching at his sneakers. Mike stood beside him, shield tucked under one arm, sword hanging awkwardly from his belt. He had no idea what to do with his face. Or his hands. Or any part of himself, really.

"Michael," Karen said gently, peering at him over the camera. "Honey, look at me. Right here."

Mike tried.

He really did.

He turned his head toward the camera, eyes flicking up for half a second, just long enough for his smile to almost form—

—and then Will leaned closer, bumping into him by accident.

"Sorry," Will whispered, grinning up at him. "Your armour's kinda big."

Mike forgot about the camera entirely.

He looked at Will, and his smile spread without permission. It was wider than the one he'd practiced in the mirror for school photos, wider than the one he gave teachers, wider than the one he thought he was supposed to have.

Joyce clicked the shutter.

"Oh," she said softly, lowering the camera a fraction. "That one's perfect."

Karen frowned slightly as she looked at the picture. "Michael, honey, you're supposed to be looking over here."

Mike startled, eyes snapping back toward the camera. "I am," he said quickly, which was only sort of true.

"Okay," Karen said patiently, lifting the camera again. "Just— look at me, and smile."

Mike nodded. He turned his body a little more toward the camera this time, squared his shoulders the way his dad always told him to, lifted his chin.

Will, beside him, lifted his staff dramatically.

"I cast a protection spell," Will announced seriously, waving it in a small circle around Mike. "So the paladin doesn't get hurt."

Mike's heart did something weird and fast.

He laughed—actually laughed—and before he could stop himself, he turned fully toward Will, eyes bright, smile breaking wide open again.

Karen sighed, but she was smiling too when she clicked the shutter. "Honestly," she murmured, "I don't think we're getting one where he isn't looking at you, Will."

Will blinked becoming slightly rosy in the cheeks feeling flustered suddenly. "At me?"

Joyce laughed, wiping at her eyes. "I can't blame you, sweetheart. His costume is one of the best I've ever seen." she said, voice warm and certain as she walked over to Will trying to squish his cheeks before Will complained, letting out a long "Mom..."

Mike's face went hot. He didn't expect to be called out for staring so much. He didn't mean to, he just... Will... He's... Will.

He ducked his head, muttering something unintelligible, but his smile didn't fade. Will nudged him gently with his elbow, still grinning, completely unaware of what he was doing to Mike's chest and stomach. The butterflies he was having were killing him.

"C'mon," Joyce said, lifting the camera again. "Just one more. Both of you together."

Will leaned in immediately, shoulder pressing into Mike's side like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Mike didn't look at the camera at all that time. And this time, he didn't regret it. At all.

The shutter clicked.

Years later, in every version of that photo, it was the same.

Two boys dressed as heroes.

One looking at the world.

And one looking at the other like he was the world.

They went trick-or-treating shortly after taking a bunch of photos. They hit the sidewalk just as the sun finished slipping away.

Streetlights flickered on one by one, casting warm circles of light across the pavement. Leaves skittered along the ground, crunching under their shoes. Will's robe swished around his legs as he walked, and every few steps he had to grab at the fabric so he wouldn't trip. He didn't slow down, though—not even a little.

"Mike," he said excitedly, turning his head so fast the hood slid halfway over his eyes, "do you think the candy will be better this year?"

Mike adjusted the strap of his shield and nodded. "Yeah," he said automatically. "Probably."

He walked on Will's left side, close enough that their elbows brushed. He didn't remember deciding to do that. He just knew that whenever Will drifted too far ahead, something in his chest tightened until Mike caught up again. He didn't ever like to be away from him. Even for a second.

The first house had a fake spiderweb stretched across the porch railing. Will stopped short, eyes wide. "Whoa."

Mike stepped forward without thinking, lifting his shield a little. "It’s fake," he said quickly. "See?"

Will leaned around him, peeking out from behind the shield, then laughed. "I know that, Mike. It's still so cool."

They climbed the steps together.

"Trick or treat!" Will said loudly, voice echoing off the doorframe.

The woman who answered smiled so hard her eyes crinkled. "Well, aren't you two something special?"

"I'm a wizard," Will explained immediately. "And he's a paladin."

Mike nodded once, solemn. "Yeah."

The woman dropped extra candy into Will's bag. Mike noticed before Will did and felt strangely proud about it.

They went house to house like that, the neighbourhood unfolding around them. Some porches were dark, some blazed with jack-o'-lanterns carved into crooked grins. Music drifted out of open windows. Somewhere down the street, kids screamed with laughter.

Will narrated everything.

"This one definitely gives out full-sized bars," he said confidently.

"Will," Mike said, "they never-"

They did.

Will gasped like he'd just rolled a natural twenty, clutching the candy to his chest. "See? I told you!"

Mike smiled, watching him bounce down the steps.

At one house, a group of older kids lingered on the sidewalk, laughing too loudly, one of them pointing at Will's robe.

Mike felt it immediately—an instinctive, electric pull in his chest.

He moved closer, shield bumping Will's arm. "Let's go this way instead," he said, steering them toward the next house before Will even noticed.

Will didn't argue. He never did when Mike sounded like that.

They stopped at a corner where Joyce and this random woman (one of her friends from work, Will guessed) were chatting a few steps behind them, giving them space but never too much. Will crouched on the curb to adjust his shoelace, the robe pooling around him like ink.

Mike stood guard.

He planted his feet wide the way he'd imagined paladins did, sword angled just right, shield lifted slightly. He wasn't pretending. Not really.

"You don't have to do that," Will said, glancing up at him with a smile.

"Do what?"

"Protect me," Will said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Mike shrugged, cheeks warm. "That's kind of my job. I'm your paladin."

Will's smile softened as blush lightly dusted his cheeks.

They kept walking.

By the time their bags were heavy with candy, Will's steps had slowed. His staff dragged against the pavement now, making a quiet scraping sound. Mike noticed immediately.

"Do you want me to carry it?" he asked.

Will blinked. "My staff?"

"Yeah."

Will handed it over without hesitation.

Mike took it carefully, holding it upright like it mattered—which it did. He walked with the shield on one arm, the staff in the other, and Will at his side, and he felt... right. Like this was how it was supposed to be.

They stopped once more for photos under a streetlight, the glow perfectly catching the silver paint on Mike's armour and the deep purple of Will's robe. Will leaned into him, tired but happy, candy bag clutched to his chest.

"Best Halloween ever," Will declared.

Mike looked down at him, smiling without even realizing it.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "It is."

By the time they reached Mike's house, Will was slowing down in a way he couldn't hide anymore.

His candy bag dragged along the sidewalk, bumping against his knee. His staff—now carried carefully by Mike—tapped softly with each step. The streetlight in front of the Wheelers' house cast a golden glow over the driveway, and Will stopped just beneath it, blinking up at the house like it was very far away.

"You okay?" Mike asked, shifting the shield on his arm.

Will nodded immediately. "Yeah," he said. Then, quieter, "Just tired."

The front door opened before they even reached it.

Karen stepped out, smiling as she took in the sight of them—rumpled costumes, flushed cheeks, candy bags bulging dangerously close to tearing.

"Looks like you two had a good night," she said.

Joyce laughed from behind them. "I don't think they stopped smiling the entire time."

Will yawned mid-step, the sound small and unguarded, and without really thinking about it, he leaned sideways.

Right into Mike.

Mike froze.

Will's head bumped gently against Mike's shoulder, the fabric of the robe brushing his arm. For half a second, Mike thought Will might pull away—but he didn't. He shifted closer instead, eyes fluttering, weight settling like it belonged there.

Mike didn't move.

He adjusted just enough so Will wouldn't slip.

Karen noticed immediately. Her smile softened. "Oh," she said quietly.

Joyce stepped closer, concern flickering across her face. "Honey, do you want to head home?"

Will made a small noise that might have been a protest, burying his face a little deeper into Mike's shoulder. "Can I... can I stay here?" he asked sleepily. "Please?"

Mike's heart leapt into his throat.

He looked up at his mom, words tumbling out too fast. "He can sleep over. I mean- if that's okay, Mom. We can- he can take the sleeping bag. Or my bed. Or—”

Karen laughed gently and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Slow down, Michael."

She looked at Joyce. Joyce didn't hesitate. "Of course he can," she said warmly. "I'll bring him fresh clothes tomorrow morning."

Relief flooded Mike so hard it made his knees feel weak.

Will smiled without opening his eyes.

They made their way inside quietly, shoes kicked off by the door. Will stayed tucked against Mike the whole time, his head lolling slightly with each step, trusting Mike to keep him upright.

Down in the basement, the lights were dimmer, softer. Mike spread out blankets and pillows on the floor, arranging everything with careful precision. Will perked up just enough to sit cross-legged beside him, dumping candy onto the carpet in a bright, crinkling pile.

"Trade?" Will asked, holding out a handful of gummies.

Mike nodded and handed over the Reese's Pieces. "Yeah."

They ate too much candy and watched a scary movie they were probably too young for, the volume turned low. Will pressed closer with every jump scare, until his shoulder was fully against Mike's, his head tilting until it rested there again.

Mike's heart pounded.

Will's breathing evened out slowly, candy forgotten in his lap. His eyes slipped closed halfway through the movie, lashes brushing his cheeks, body warm and heavy against Mike's side.

Mike glanced down at him, hardly daring to breathe.

Will fell asleep right there. On his shoulder.

Mike didn't move.

He barely blinked.

He watched the movie without seeing it, aware only of the steady rise and fall of Will's chest, the faint warmth seeping through the armour into his bones. His arm tingled where Will leaned against him, but he didn’t care. He wouldn’t have cared if it went numb forever.

He wouldn’t have minded staying like this. Forever.

In his basement. Candy wrappers scattered around them. Will safe and warm at his side.

Mike tilted his head just enough to rest it gently against Will’s hair, eyes drifting shut at last, smiling faintly in the dark.

If he had it his way, he would always let Will sleep on his shoulder in his basement forever.

And he would always stay.

The memory loosened its grip slowly, like a tide pulling back.

Will blinked, breath hitching just a little, and found himself back in the basement. The concrete floor was cool beneath his knees, the low hum of the house settling around him again. The purple robe was still in his hands, lighter than it had been in his memory but no less important. He laughed quietly to himself, something soft and fond, and brushed his thumb over a crooked seam on one of the silver stars where Joyce had stitched it when the fabric started to fray—made with love.

"I can't believe you kept this," he murmured, shaking his head, though of course he could believe it. Joyce kept everything. It's the main thing he loved his mom for. Her... sappiness. He got it from her too.

Behind him, the stairs creaked.

Will didn't turn right away. He knew those footsteps—knew the rhythm of them, the pause halfway down like Mike was deciding whether to announce himself or not.

He didn't.

Instead, his arms slid around Will's middle, familiar and warm, hands settling at his waist like they belonged there—which they did. Mike's chest pressed into his back, solid and grounding, and his chin came to rest on Will's shoulder. His voice was low and amused, breath warm against Will's ear.

"I haven't seen that costume in years," Mike said. "Jesus."

Will laughed, the sound bubbling up easily, unguarded. He let himself lean back into Mike for a second before carefully folding the robe, smoothing the fabric like he was tucking a memory in for safekeeping. He set it gently back into the box and pushed the lid halfway closed.

Then he turned in Mike's arms.

He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Mike's cheek, lingering there, before hugging him properly—arms looping around his neck, fingers sliding into the familiar place at the nape of his hair. Mike's hands tightened at Will's waist automatically, like muscle memory.

Mike smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. "What's this for?" he asked softly. "Not that I'm complaining."

Will didn't answer right away.

He tipped his head up instead, kissed Mike again—this time slower, surer, the kind of kiss that came from years of choosing each other every day. When he pulled back, he stayed close, foreheads almost touching, eyes bright with something playful and deeply sincere all at once.

"I love you, Mike the Brave," Will said.

Then he giggled, unable to help it, because the name still made something light and ridiculous flutter in his chest, the same way it had when they were eight and pretending to be heroes. Mike's mouth twitched, like he was trying not to smile too hard.

Mike watched him with that look he still got sometimes—the one like he was seeing Will all over again, like time folded in on itself and slowed down when Will smiled like that. Will stepped back, still grinning, and turned toward the stairs, taking them two at a time the way he always did when he felt especially buoyant and alive.

"Oh yeah?" Mike called after him, warmth threaded through his voice.

Will didn’t get far.

Mike caught up in three strides, hands finding Will's hips and pulling him back just enough to steal his balance and his breath. Will laughed, startled and breathless, hands bracing against Mike's shoulders as Mike leaned down, their foreheads touching, noses brushing.

"I love you too," Mike said softly—no hesitation, no doubt—his voice steady and sure in a way it hadn't always been. "Will the Wise."

Something in Will's chest tightened, sweet and aching all at once.

Mike leaned in and kissed him, unhurried, deep, like there was nowhere else in the world they needed to be—and there wasn't. Just the two of them, in a basement filled with old memories and new ones, holding each other like this was always where they were meant to end up.

And maybe they were.

Will the Wise & Mike the Brave. A match made to last forever.